. . .In endless darkness! Never more for him The sunny meads shall glow, the flowerets bloom; Nor shall he more behold the roseate tints Of the iced mountain top! To die is nothing, But to have life, and not have sight—oh, that Is misery indeed! Why do you look So piteously at me? I have two eyes, Yet to my poor blind father can give neither! No, not one gleam of that great sea of light, That with its dazzling splendor floods my gaze. STAUFFACHER. Ah, I must swell the measure of your grief, Instead of soothing it. The worst, alas! Remains to tell. They've stripped him of his all; Naught have they left him, save his staff, on which, Blind and in rags, he moves from door to door. MELCHTHAL. Naught but his staff to the old eyeless man! Stripped of his all—even of the light of day, The common blessing of the meanest wretch. Tell me no more of patience, of concealment! Oh, what a base and coward t. . . Read More